


Reading Lessons

by Quillweave



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Genre: Backstory, Comedy, Dark Brotherhood - Freeform, Fluff, Other, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-07-10 21:22:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15957800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quillweave/pseuds/Quillweave
Summary: Antoinetta Marie is already a skilled killer from her time surviving on the streets, but she still has a lot to learn - and Vicente has to remind himself why patience is an assassin's greatest virtue.





	Reading Lessons

**Author's Note:**

> Another little piece I've brought over from another site where I originally posted the work. Poor Vicente. I ship it.

“I really don’t see much point in this.”

Antoinetta Marie pouted down at the parchment, quill dribbling blots of ink to sink in and become irreversible imperfections on the clean sheet. She could  _feel_  him hovering over her shoulder, the overstuffed leech and huffed, tossing her hair back. A dramatic sigh. “I mean, I should be training. Doing something  _useful_ , or be out on a contract. Spilling blood!”

“Patience, murderer. You’ll have your chance again, in time.” Vicente gazed over her work with a critical eye, casting a brow. “For now, there are other skills you must master.”

Her red lips pursed into a pout. “I’ve never needed to be able to read or write  _before_. You don’t need to be able to write to sneak, or to slit a throat, or poison stew. “

“Yet to read a contract yourself, or to leave a note for a contact, you must.” His hands folded behind his back as he spoke, head inclining. His expression one of practiced temperance. Patience was key – not only for her, but for himself. She tested it, but with training she would be well worth the effort. So Lucien had said, in any case.

Then again, The Speaker wasn’t the one to actually  _deal_  with the girl, was he? She couldn’t have been more than nineteen, still paranoid and hostile from her lifetime of scavenging for survival. Still a child, nothing more than untapped, chaotic potential at this stage.

She rolled her eyes, turning back to her parchment with furrowed brow. It was so _stupid,_ all of this. She’d done fine without these skills so far, hadn’t she? He was only making her do this to bully her, and the worst part was it was working.  _Children_  could read and write. Lucky children, of course, those so fortunate as to be given schooling. Not street urchins, like her. Yet facing the blank parchment, trying to copy the letters and sentences Vicente had given her left her with a pit of dread in her stomach, roiling. She felt foolish, and surely that was exactly what he wanted.

A sudden snarl left her as he hovered over her shoulder again. “And would you stop  _looming_  like a bloody giant bat!?”

He stopped short. His voice never raised, yet the air grew chill. “You will not speak to me that way, murderer.”

A swallow and she shrank, riled and inwardly hissing, but cowed. The skritch of a quill tip on paper resumed for several silent, fuming minutes, until a mug of tea was left beside her on the desk.

She glanced up to see Vicente sitting behind her, holding his own mug, gaze intent. It both unnerved her and angered her, how calm he always was. He was unflappable, untouchable.

Unreadable.

“Drink. We shall break here, for now.” He gestured towards the tea, which she reluctantly picked up and sipped. It was hot, uncomfortably hot, but the singe at the back of her throat was at least a distraction of some kind. Still petulant, she muttered under her breath.

_“Finally.”_

A brow raised, but he didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. She huffed and went to take another sip, the mug halfway to her mouth when he interrupted.

“Let us play through a little scenario.” The mug set aside he intertwined his fingers, leaning forward. His hair fell over his shoulder, gaunt face as placid as ever. “You are posing as a young noblewoman at a dinner party. The discussion has turned to literature. You are expected to contribute, yet being illiterate, you cannot. You do not fit in, and draw dangerous attention to yourself because of this.”

She scoffed, narrow chin pointed upwards. “I’d just distract them with my charm and my looks.”

He barely kept himself from chuckling aloud, only a twitch of a smirk at the corner of his mouth. “You are also given potions. One for poisoning the food, another for healing yourself after ingesting the poison from the meal. If all went well, you would dine with the others, thus failing to arouse suspicion from not eating, and simply imbibe the potion shortly after. But because you cannot read, you make the mistake of switching the two.”

Her brow furrowed, lips pursed once more. “I – I’d just use different colour labels! Then I could tell.” She crossed her arms over her chest, triumphant even as Vicente raised his brows.

“You cannot read the signs of the roads to know where you are headed. You cannot read the warnings or bounties that may alert you to dangerous wildlife or nearby mercenaries. You cannot – “

“ _Alright!_   _Fine,_  I get it.” She blew out a puff of air, eyes rolling. “I’ll keep practicing. I just think that my time and my talents could be better spent.”

“You may _think_  however you want, so long as you obey the orders of your superior. That is another essential ability – the ability to read the tenets. Even,” he interrupted as her lips parted, “If you know them by heart.”

She glowered again, sinking in her chair, beaten. Inwardly, Vicente could only laugh. This girl, with her little golden curls and red moue, had talent somewhere beneath her looks. He’d heard of her work, seen with what skill she could creep in the shadows, how her blade could leave nothing but a thin red line on the neck of a corpse.

Yet she still had much to learn.

“And – “Loathe as he was to bring this up, it seemed the best way to grab her interest. “You enjoy cooking, do you not?”

Antoinetta perked up. On the streets, food was always scarce and barely edible. Living here, with access to a true kitchen, real food, spices, was almost more than she could wrap her head around. Fresh apples, cuts of beef, rosemary, _garlic!_ “Of course I do. Why?”

“You could learn new recipes. There are a great many books dedicated to the artistry of cooking. If you were able to read, I’m certain you would be able to master many of them.”

She rather liked the sound of that. Her brow knotted again, this time in thought. “… Could I cook with garlic, if I did learn to read?”

Vicente gave her  _the_ _look_. “Do not push your luck, murderer.”

Now gleeful the girl giggled, blue eyes bright, smile wide. She tilted her head and gave a dramatic sigh, eyes lidding. “Well, alright. I suppose if it means I can cook new things, and I can pretend to be a  _proper_  noblewoman…” Her voice shifted higher, haughtier on the last words. “… I’ll do it. But I still think I could pass as noble on my beauty alone.”

“I’m  _sure_  you could. Nevertheless, we will continue with lessons tomorrow.”

“I could?” Antoinetta batted her lashes, eyes wide, lips parted in feigned innocence. “Why, Vicente, are you saying I’m  _beautiful_?”

 He only pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “To your duties, murderer.”

 With a girlish giggle and sashay of her hips she left, leaving the vampire to sink to his chair and run a hand through his hair.

 He was going to need something stronger than tea.


End file.
